


Rush Home with Your Treasures

by fishingclocks



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Humor, None of them Advisable, Various Methods of Gifting, others have puns thrust upon them, some are born punners
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:09:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/pseuds/fishingclocks
Summary: The thing about having no surviving family members is that one sort of allows things like holiday traditions to slide. The thing about having a close-knit group of friends is that all of a sudden, that isn’t really allowed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> merry chritmas!! i don't know what i'm doing
> 
> edit: now with italics (thanks ao3 formatting) and corrected trinket pronouns!

The thing about having no surviving family members is that one sort of allows things like holiday traditions to slide. The thing about having a close-knit group of friends is that all of a sudden, that isn’t really allowed.

Not that they would ever _force_ Percy into any celebration if he asked to be left out of it—out of respect for the twins, Father’s Day goes by without anyone’s mention; even Scanlan’s, who happens to be an _actual_ father—Percy doesn’t _want_ them to stop including them in their festivities, really. It isn’t as though every itch, garish sweater reminds him of his brutally murdered family—Christmas had never been much of a thing in the de Rolo household, aside from a respectfully generalized winter gala and the occasional Dean Martin song.

Even if it _had_ been a more integral part of Percy’s childhood, the holidays with his friends are just so _odd_ that he’s quite sure he wouldn’t even mind. Vax and Scanlan go back and forth every year with new ‘traditions’ that get more convoluted as the year goes by—Scanlan swears the pickle thing isn’t one he made up, but Percy remains unconvinced—Keyleth is _bizarrely_ involved in the Christmas season, for someone whose religion in no way even resembles Christianity, Grog’s presents are always strangely metaphorical and heart-warming—

Christmas since they had inserted themselves into his life has been nothing short of—if he’ll allow himself a moment of sentimental weakness—magical.

Which is why, two weeks before Christmas, as the crowds are already multiplying in numbers, and ads scream through every electronic device about _SALES_ , Percy finds himself in a Walmart, twenty minutes before closing, quietly dying inside.

He’s been here no less than four hours. Percy has decided that all of the deities must have collectively agreed to smite him.

Actually, right now, smiting might not be so bad. Anyone having spent more than three hours in a Walmart could use a good smite.

“Ah, sir?” says an employee, who has definitely been here more than three hours—the bags under their eyes speak novels. “Would you mind…moving? You’ve been standing in front of the inflatables for a while now and a few customers have expressed…concerns.”

A woman standing behind the employee, whose bob cut is sharper than freshly cut steel with the shoulder pads to match, sniffs, and tilts her cart judgmentally.

“Oh, of course,” Percy says, offering the poor employee what he hopes looks more like a smile than a grimace. He dutifully moves out from in front of the inflatables. It is now fifteen minutes before closing, and Percy is no closer to acquiring remotely acceptable gifts for any one of his friends.

Percy cedes defeat. He takes his cart to the Garden Center check-out, and pays for what meager offerings he has—mostly items he’d put in his cart to look like he knew what he was doing—with a twenty, cash. He beats a hasty retreat.

-

It’s a week and a half later, and the guilt is starting to set in.

Specifically, because Percy has a type and shade of guilt for all occasions, the Christmas-shaped guilt, which tastes like Hershey’s Kisses and regret in the back of his throat, and manifests in a small, sad, plastic sack, stuffed into a dark corner of Percy’s workshop and avoided whenever possible.

All that Percy had managed to buy that day fits into one Walmart bag, random pieces from all over the store. When he finally drags up the nerve and empties it onto his workbench, this is what he finds inside: a flashlight, bulky and dim, a scarf that is quite an offensive shade of teal, a necklace with faux feathers and a peace sign—it may once have been ‘silver,’ but all hint of paint has now faded away and honestly, Percy doesn’t think he should be touching it with his bare hands—a…hose? Maybe? and a leopard-printed spatula.

Percy leaves the workbench, and it takes him two hours to work up the nerve to come back again.

Then he gets to work.

-

Scanlan says “Hah!” and shoves the candy bar onto the conveyor belt with a flourish. “Just in time!”

The cashier gives him a look. ‘Desiree,’ her name-tag says. ‘You scare me,’ her face says. Scanlan takes this in stride, leaning over the counter with a wink. “Trust me, it’s absolutely hilarious in context,” he reassures her. Desiree hums and scans the next item on the belt—mint M&M’s, which are a Christmas _must_ —and says, in a high-pitched, practiced Retail tone of voice, “Did you find everything okay today, sir?”

“Oh, definitely,” says Scanlan. “Easy, really. I must be lucky today—the emoji stickers were in the cereal aisle!”

Desiree finishes running his items through, motions for him to swipe his card through, and starts bagging.

Typing in his pin, Scanlan hums. “I’ve gotta say though, I was about to get worried. Who’d’ve thought _Rolo’s_ would be so hard to find.”

“I hope you enjoy them, sir,” says Desiree.

Scanlan puts his bags in the basket with a salute. “Oh, trust me; I will.”

-

Vax gets home late tonight.

He gets home late _every_ night, of course—working a couple shitty jobs will do that to you—but when Vax clocks in and heads home the clocks tells him it’s past midnight. Add that to the fifteen minute commute home from the security guard gig, and, safe to say, when Vax slots his key into the apartment door, it’s _late_.

Which is why Vax stands in the doorway for a few seconds—blinking dumbly—when he opens the door, and every light in the apartment is on.

A combination of muscle memory and pure common sense tells him that he should be on red alert, but a quick once-over of the apartment leaves him with more questions than answers. Nothing is out of place—electronics like the toaster are where they were this morning, even the the electric kettle Vex keeps having Percy resurrect is only shifted a little to the right. None of the chairs are tipped over, Trinket’s asleep under the table, the TV’s still there, the couch—

Vax rolls his eyes and shoves his work-bag onto the table. Now that he isn’t being quite so analytical, he’s much less confused. There are two mugs on their one and only slab of formica countertop, a bowl of marshmallow’s sat in between them. Various gifts that Vex has had stashed away since November are all on display, with fluttery sheets of tissue paper sticking out between them, and on the couch, passed out cold, is Vex.

Flicking out lights as he goes along, Vax tiptoes over to the couch, and levers himself down to the ground in front of it. By his foot is a list of Potential Gifts for Percy. He makes sure to carefully kick that underneath a glob of ribbon.

Vex shifts in her sleep, but other than that, makes no sound. Well, except the kitten snores, but those are a secret Vax will carry to his grave—lest his sister ever let anyone in on the sleep-talking.

Turning around, Vax sighs, and pokes her in the sides. Vex yelps, jackknifing away from his _tickling_ hands, and in a matter of seconds her surprised squeak morphs into an outraged shriek. “ _Vax’ildan!_ ”

“Jesus, Sister, you’re lucky it’s just me—that could have been _anyone_.” Vax shifts away from the couch, just in case of a counter-attack, and wraps his arms around his knees. “What are you doing sleeping on the couch, anyway? Do you know what _time_ it is?”

Vex takes a couple moments to collect herself again, and pulls her favorite afghan into her lap. “I was waiting for _you_ , you asshole.”

“Considerate,” says Vax, smirking. “I’m glad you’ll be thinking of me tomorrow when you’re at work and you can’t turn your head.”

“Christmas is so close,” say Vex. “We were going to wrap our presents.”

“You mean _your_ presents.”

“I mean _our_ presents—why am I even explaining myself to you? You’re the one who said you’d be home by ten!”

“Boss needed me late. Christmas rush and all that. But I got him to pay me overtime, though, so silver lining.”

There’s a bit of silence. Those happen a lot these days. Still, Vax isn’t going to complain. It wasn’t four years ago when his sister was like a ghost around him, barely present. Even in the past months, these little moments have gotten fewer and father between—no more obsessive budgeting even when he _knows_ Vex has the numbers committed to memory, no more googling the man who likes to think he’s their ‘father’ and reading every piece of new media. Keyleth likes to think that having Percy is a ‘positive influence.’ Vax likes to ignore her when she’s talking nonsense.

Vex comes out of it after no more than a minute or two—Vax wants to strangle something and also tell every person in the building how damn _proud_ he is of her. “We’ll do it tomorrow, then,” she says.

“Hmm,” he taps his chin consideringly. “I don’t know—I feel like this is all just a grand scheme to make me do your work for you.”

Just as he’d predicted; retaliation. Vex’ foot lazily kicks out at him—he makes a show of scrambling to his feet to get away. “Like you have any _to_ wrap, procrastinator.”

Vax lifts a hand to his forehead and makes a noise of distress. He scoops his bag off the table and says “Get to bed, you.” Vex flips him off.

-

In Vax’ room, he unzips his bag and fishes around for a couple seconds. He pulls out a book labeled ‘Songwriting for Dummies’ that he _knows_ Scanlan will appreciate, a green butterfly magnet that reminded him of Pike, and a wine cork that says ‘Fuck You’ in such beautiful calligraphy, he’d _had_ to shell out the couple dollars the lady wanted for it.The drawer rattles when he opens it; Vax shoves them all inside and hopes that they’ll fit.

-

It’s January 13 when Pike buys the new pants that Grog so desperately needs. If asked how she knows his pant size Pike will say that she is a _doctor_ and then never speak to anyone ever again. The rest of them just accumulate over the next couple of months—real Amsterdam tulip bulbs for Keyleth, a pack of nice nail polish that reminded her of Vex—and by February, Pike has all of this years’ Christmas presents wrapped and ready; just the way she likes them.

-

She’s looking for a nice spring sundress to wear out to breakfast with Keyleth when she comes across them. A tower of neatly wrapped packages, shoved into the back of her closet.

Pike has absolutely _no_ idea what they’re for.

By ten o’clock she’s rewrapping and calling Keyleth to let her know that sorry, she hasn’t forgotten about their breakfast date, but she might be just a few minutes late.

-

Pike’s invited everyone over for dinner and a movie, and they’re having a lovely time.

That is, until _Scanlan_ bursts out of her room with a few wrapped gifts in his arms and says “Pike, dearest, you _shouldn’t_ have!” The wrapping tears on a couple of them as she wrestles them out of his hands, but luckily no one sees.

It isn’t her fault this time that she ends up rewrapping. But she _had_ forgotten what those presents were.

-

It’s Grog’s birthday, Pikes sees a package wrapped with paper she’d bought specifically for Grog and she just _assumes_. It isn’t until he’s unwrapped it that she realizes her mistake.

Pike ends up buying him new boots as a replacement.

No one will ever know.

-

Finally, it’s the the day before Christmas Eve. Pike pulls out every single impeccably wrapped gift, looking on her work with pride.

She then realizes that none of them are labeled.

By the time she’s finished getting everything wrapped again it’s Christmas Eve. Later, Scanlan will look at the dark circles under her eyes, wink, and say “Late night?” in his most lascivious tone of voice, and Pike will have to suppress the urge to _strangle_ him.

-

There is no such thing, in Keyleth’s opinion, as loving Christmas too much.

-

The sign says ‘Books a Million,’ so Grog is pretty sure they’ll have what he’s looking for.

One step inside, though, and he’s very tempted to beat a retreat.

Grog knows what he wants, though. Well, sort of. He knows the _thing_ he wants—the _type_ of thing he wants, he couldn’t have less of a clue about.

He must be more tense than he’d thought, because when a teenager in a black shirt and a name tag says “Can I help you look for something, sir,” in a shaky voice, Grog nearly takes a swipe at her in surprise. It takes a couple more seconds after that to realize that yeah, she’d been asking _him_ that question.

Normally when someone asks Grog something like that he’ll just grunt at them until they leave him alone. He’s not sure what to do when he actually _wants_ their help.

“Yes,” he says, hoping that’ll do.

“…Yes?” says the girl. She looks like she might faint if he moves. Grog tries very hard not to move.

“Yes, to that thing you said,” he adds, in clarification.

“Oh,” says the girl. “Um… what _kind_ of book are you looking for?”

Dammit, that was what she was supposed to be telling _him_.

“It’s for a Christmas present,” Grog says. He uncrosses his arms, lifts one up to scratch at the back of his neck. “For a tiny… doctor… friend. Do you have those?”

The girl breathes funny. “I’ll… see what I can do.”

-

Vex _invented_ Thursday Black Friday shopping. She beats the crowds, she beats the prices, she _kicks Christmas’ ass_. Whatever she bags on the few days after Thanksgiving is what her friends are gonna get.

Except this is her first year with a real boyfriend, who she has real feelings for, and who she thinks has real feelings for her in return. That doesn’t mean he’s somehow _above_ Cyber Monday deals—it just means deciding on something for him is _hard_.

Vax had banned complaining to him about finding Percy a gift just one week after Thanksgiving. Keyleth hadn’t ever been so extreme, but she keeps spewing nonsense like ‘Follow your heart!’ and ‘He’ll love you no matter what!’ which could be recited from the wrapper of a Dove chocolate for all Vex knows. Even Pike in her infinite patience has started getting a faraway look in her eye when she brings it up.

Obviously her friends are useless.

“Trinket darling,” Vex moans, languishing on her bed as her perfect dog snuggles next to her, “Mommy just doesn’t know what to _do_.”

Trinket lolls his tongue out and wags his) tail a few times.

Vex sighs. “I know, I know. But I just want to get him something _perfect_. Keyleth’s always good at the _meaningful_ gifts, but she won’t even help me anymore.”

Trinket sneezes.

“What do I possibly get him that says ‘I love you, I know you love me, and by the way darling Merry Christmas?’”

Shifting next to her, Trinket lays her head on Vex’ chest in commiseration. And in that moment, Vex comes to the most _perfect_ of epiphanies. She pats Trinket’s head, absently, and says “Good dog.”

**Author's Note:**

> last chapter should be up soon!! also, i'm very new to the fandom, so please let me know what you think!! <3


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